One can only witness the true essence, the intriguing energy of buildering in the deep of the twilight. Late in the night when a change occurs. It is an athletic alchemy, provoked partly by the bartender, telling everyone that it’s closing time, they have to leave.

Some think, ‘one more cigarette or a bong session, perhaps a silly movie, maybe the twelve pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon in the fridge at home?’

Others think about climbing buildings.

When most everyone is sleeping, or doing other lazy activities in the horizontal, the lucky ones are, well, getting lucky, in a town of thousands just two or three may decide to enter the vertical. They will choose to builder.

In various places in Colorado, for a few years now I’ve managed to stay primarily on the outside of buildering sessions; but still remaining on the inside. While I’ve gotten off the ground a time or two, usually I just watch, especially when the buildering taking place enters the zone a fall could mean death. Just being around the excitement is enough, and in the last few years, for many nights after the bars close I’ve found myself within a cipher of builderers mixing their beer buzz with adrenaline; putting their youthful health on the line for a unique rush.

Sparks is one of those climbers people must think of when they visualize a guy in his twenties who muscles his way through a climb. Ripped, like the guys posing on the packages of underwear. For some reason his performance rarely matched up with his strength. When his mind was on an “off” day he could not perform on the rock. Though his body was strong enough, often his mind would not break through to the meditative state needed for difficult climbing. But he was way strong and once in a full moon he would be “on” and great things could happen.